


The House

by Flame_05



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Whump, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Death, Descent into Madness, Fire, Haunted Houses, Haunting, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Protective Hosea Matthews, References to Depression, Scary, Spooky, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flame_05/pseuds/Flame_05
Summary: This house, as it stood amongst the swamps, was not just a house.This house was malevolent, and hungry for insanity and depression. This house, recently claimed by the Van Der Linde gang, was soon to have its hunger satiated.1
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	1. A House

A house, is a house. A collection of bricks and wooden planks, cement and nails, plaster and mortar. A house is inanimate. It stands where you tell it, looks how you make it, and is a ‘house’ because it has been named as such. A house can not see, can not think, and is oblivious to those who inhabit it. A house can neither be kind nor dangerous, pleased nor angered. A house, is a house.

Yet this house, as it stood amongst the swamps, was not just a house. 

This house was malevolent, and hungry for insanity and depression. This house, recently claimed by the Van Der Linde gang, was soon to have its hunger satiated.


	2. Strauss Dreams

First, the house visited Leopold in his dreams. 

Night by night, it filled his dreams with all his desires. Dreams of riches, and contentedness, and everything ‘good’ which was currently out of his reach in reality, it made Leopold dread opening his eyes again. His reality seemed darker and harsher each day, the gang he once called ‘family’ unable to intervene as his wakeful hours became a torture. He longed for more than life could give him, he longed for the joy and haven of his dreams.

He would wake most mornings, aching all over and already wishing to close his eyes and return to his dream world. Susan would complain to him about the state of his bedclothes, dirty and foul as though he had been through the swamps. He paid her no attention, waving her off and ignoring her shouts of complaint. His ever narrowing patience for wakefulness left no room to listen to Susan, and her initial good intentions soon turned to displeasure until stubbornly, she chose to ignore the man altogether. 

The house watched silently, continuing each night to slip into his dreams, feasting on his daytime depression.

Leopold dreamt that he was walking through large, grand gardens, more luxurious than any he had ever seen in the real world. Perfectly trimmed hedges and the most exquistantly fragrant flowers in full bloom, the gardens spread for miles and he could never tire of walking through them. Dressed in the finest of clothing, with a comforting sense of his own importance, he wished to never again awaken to the hash reality of the gang’s temporary camp amongst the stinking, sticky swamps.

The house, embedded deep within his mind, listened to his wishes, and allowed him to dream on.

Leopold happily found himself moving from a sweet smelling rose garden towards a refreshing outdoor pool. Adorned with intricately patterned tiles, and crystal-clear water with a perfect temperature, the pool was oh so inviting. With a contended sigh, Leopold began to swim.

When he was awoken from his dream, it was for a quick moment of horror and disgust, finding himself far from the lights of camp and drenched in the foulness of the swamps. Having barely processed his predicament, next his eyes bulged as he felt a strong jaw of sharp teeth sink into him, the gator dragging him far below the surface. 

The house stood content as the morning dawned. 

The rest of the gang paying only brief attention to the disappearance of Herr Strauss, his ever worsening mood of the past week leaving them with the conclusion that he must have left them in the night. Dutch encouraging that conclusion by talking about Strauss's lack of faith, naming him as a coward who had abandoned them. His few bodily remains which were not devoured by the gators lay deep at the bottom of the swamp, never to be discovered.


	3. Molly is Alone

Although temporarily satiated with Strauss' devoured essence, the house soon hungered again. Silently it stood watching the gang calling it their home, unaware of the danger they all faced from the inanimate structure. 

It’s gaze soon settled upon a Miss Molly O’Shea, and as it considerered her, it discovered it’s desire to destruct to already be half done. There was a darkness inside her mind, festering and building, and the house sensed it would not take much to encourage that darkness to consume her entirely. 

She was often alone, allowing the house to become alive around her, relishing the opportunity to slowly engulf her. It whispered to her through the wood of it’s body, unnatural noises that to her ears became taunts, the darkness in her mind festering and morphing to paranoia. 

The house watched as Miss Molly tried in vain to speak to Dutch, desperate for a connection that could reach into her darkness and save her, but was relentlessly ignored. He spared her no time and he did not see how deep she was slipping into a suffocating darkness, a darkness that made her all the more enticing to the malevolent house.


	4. Molly Fades

The house followed Molly, whispering ridicule and pessimistic notions to her through its walls, each day allowing her less and less silence. Lying in her bed she could not sleep, the whispers reaching her ears not bothering Dutch as he quietly snored beside her. 

At first, she had tried waking him, but he was blind to her terror and desperation and as the nights went on he gave her only anger, oblivious to her torment. Eventually, Molly stopped waking him, instead lying beside him feeling utterly alone as she tried in vain to ignore the insistent whispers. While she knew they were not coming from her fellow gang members, she could not help but hear their voices through the taunts, reminding her how little she belonged to the gang she had once hoped to call family.

The house grew stronger as Miss O’Shea’s darkness overtook her. Pleased, it watched as she abandoned sleep, her fatigue only adding to her paranoia. Wherever she moved to within the house, the whispers followed her, but the darkness of the swamps kept her fearful of the night outside of its walls. Her pacing round the creaky floorboards and groaning staircase resulted in verbal abuse from the disgruntled gang members whose sleep was disturbed by her noises. They all, like Dutch, did not hear the whispers as the house did not yet prey on them. They saw only entitlement and rudeness from Molly, talking to her only to complain, unknowingly adding to her suffocating feelings of isolation. 

The house stood, and if it could smile it would have, as it watched the frenzied Miss O’Shea pace the dock jetty, screaming her frustrations into the swamps. Starving as always, the house relished slowly devouring the unfortunate woman. Fear and depression was its favourite taste, but paranoia was something new, and the house was nearly satiated again.

The house stood amongst the swamps, hungry for insanity and depression, and excruciatingly slowly digesting the unfortunate Miss O’Shea. 

It whispered to her incessantly, and to her alone. The rest of the Van Der Linde gang had no understanding, or sympathy, of her complaints, and their choosing to alienate her only aided the house in encouraging her insanity. Not even Dutch, the man whom she had once loved and trusted entirely, had stopped to listen to her concerns or recognised the signs of her losing her grip on sanity. 

The house’s whispers, reaching her through every splinter of wood and the very essence of the house, reached her ears as taunts and threats from the gang. Her hopes of calling any one of them friends or family had long since been diminished and she became too afraid to leave the confines of the house’s walls. Willingly but unknowingly, she spent all her days within the body of the house, and the stomach which was devouring her. The taste of her paranoia and insanity was sweetness to the house, and it was in no hurry for her to meet her end.

Days turned to weeks, and unfortunate Molly ceased every habit that made her alive and human. Sat in a shadowy corner of the house, she would rock back and forth, muttering incoherently, allowing her mind to be entirely enveloped in darkness. When Dutch, eventually, thought that something ought to be done, she showed only terror when he approached her, and he readily left her to herself. Ceasing to eat, drink, or sleep, the gang knew that she would soon die, but paused only for a moment of passing sadness, for they had no time to grieve for someone they saw as a nuisance and outsider. 

The house, malevolent and ever hungry, continued to watch the gang calling it a home, seeking out a new soul to feast on.


	5. Voice in the Walls

“There’s something in the walls, mama” Jack tried once again to voice his concerns to his mother, but she shushed him and urged him outside to play.

There was something wrong with this house. Jack could feel it, like a sickness, or something unnatural that he was too young to put into words. 

For a while, he thought that Miss O’Shea could sense it too, but he was told that she was unwell and that he was not to go near her. So he did as he was told, not wanting to worry his mother, and now no one talked about Miss O’Shea. 

The house stood, still satiated from Molly and Strauss, but watching the rest of the gang and readying itself to select a new soul to feast upon. The boy was too young, too small, and the house paid him no heed.


	6. Micah

From the moment that the gang had arrived and called its body a home, the house had watched him with great curiosity. He was a desperate man, and the house could taste it. Depression and hallucinations it had fed on from Strauss, paranoia and insanity from Miss O’Shea, and now the house salivated for a new taste. 

The house watched as the man, in his desperation to please, would abandon all dignity and throw his worship at their leader. The house watched as the man tried to forge false brotherhoods between the men, and the house watched as the man attempted romance with the ladies.

The house watched, and waited, until one night it begun to creep inside the man’s mind. Malicious and ravenous, the house persuaded his gaze towards the flicker of the fire.

The house stood satisfied, as a spark of a manic idea blossomed within the mind of Micah Bell.


	7. They Burn.

Fire, was not something that the house was accustomed to, certainly not fire out of control and away from a safely built fireplace. 

The house, in physical form, had too much wood, too much fabric, too much dust, to be accustomed to fire. Fire, the house knew, was a threat. Yet still, fire fascinated the house as much as any dangerous thing and so it let its fascination seep deep into the mind of Micah Bell, to experience fire in the house’s stead. 

It was subtle, Micah was disliked and so the rest of the gang did not notice as he spent longer by their campfires, staring intently into the flames. Nor did any of them notice when Micah would go to his bedroll later and later each night, choosing instead to sit up staring into flames and watching the dying embers. It was so subtle, that Micah did not even realise it himself, when the house became deeply embedded within his mind. Fire. Fire was all that Micah could think about. Fire and burning.

It was surprisingly easy for him to convince the young man to accompany him on a non-existent stagecoach robbery. Lenny was all too eager to prove his value to the gang, and as much as he disliked Micah, a promising robbery was not something he would pass up. Together the two men left camp, and Micah directed them to hide off the side of a road he knew to be scarcely used. He did not need witnesses. Before young Lenny had any inkling as to what Micah’s intentions were, the man had pistol whipped him to temporary unconsciousness, and when poor Lenny awoke he was tied tightly by rope. The young man tried to no avail to escape his bonds, and to plead with Micah, but he could only look on in horror as Micah emptied moonshine over him then took the match from his hat. 

Through Micah’s eyes the house watched, as young Lenny writhed and cried out inhumanely as the flames engulfed him, the fire taking his life without pity.

The house was gleeful. Fire was more powerful, and more hideous, than it could have anticipated. 

Watching young Lenny burning alive through the eyes of Micah had brought the house pure glee, yet it still desired to taste fire itself, not merely see it’s damage from afar. Keeping itself embedded within the mind of Micah, the House kept the fascination of fire at the forefront of the mans mind. 

The house drank in the aroma of distress as Micah spun his tale to the rest of the gang. With downcast eyes he told them how Lemoyne Raiders had ambushed them, that poor young Lenny took a hail of bullets, that there nothing Micah could have done to save him. The cries of the women and the stoic shock of the men created a sweet aroma to the house. The house was glad these people had decided to call its body a home, they were keeping it well fed with tortured souls.

Micah sat staring at the flames till late into the night once all the gang had gone to sleep. Having unknowingly surrendered his mind to the House, like a lamb to slaughter Micah drenched himself in whiskey, then moved towards the raging campfire by the swamps. With the house ready to feast, Micah stepped into the flames.

Charles, nearby on guard duty, could scarcely believe what he was seeing but he could not reach Micah in time to pull him from the engulfing fire. The rest of the gang awoke to agonising screams, and the house stood silent and satisfied, then it’s eyes rested upon a silver haired man.


	8. Jack is Scared

Jack knew it was there, in the walls, he knew it. He couldn’t name it, nor adequately describe it, but he knew it was there. 

The house was wrong, it was sick, and sometimes Jack could hear it in the walls. If he looked long enough, he was sure he could even see dark shadows ripple past, pulsing like a heartbeat. 

His mama had grown tired of his complaints, and his pa exasperatedly told him that he should feel fortunate to be sleeping safe within the house’s walls. They would tell him to go outside and play, to stop staring at the walls, but Jack seldom listened to them. With all the determined might that he had, he wanted to understand what the house was.

He was worried. Jack’s little heart was becoming full of fear, as he worried about Uncle Hosea, whose name he could hear being whispered by the walls.


	9. Hosea

Age was not something which concerned the house. Although age could try to crack its walls, rot its wood, dust its skin, age could not touch its core. Age could not touch its heart. 

The House stood silent, and curious, learning of age by watching the silver haired man. Watching him move stiffly, cough repeatedly, and claim wisdom from his years. The House was captivated by the older man, and yearned to taste his age.   
Each night it visited him, while the rest were asleep and oblivious, the house would gravitate all of its focus on the sleeping man. As the nights passed, and the satisfaction from consuming the souls of Lenny and Micah had faded, the House began to watch the man with malicious intent. 

As Hosea lay sleeping, he was woken by creaking. Creaking, in a house such as this, was perfectly normal he assured himself. The creaking of footsteps right by his door, was more concerning. Concerned that one of his family had encountered a problem in the night and required his aid, Hosea wearily rose from his bed and opened his door, to find nothing. Sighing, he admonished himself and settled back into bed, only to hear the unmistakable creak of footsteps once again.

Frowning to himself, but unwilling to relinquish his stiff joints from the comfortable bed, he attempted to ignore the creaking. Then, ever so slowly, the door to his room opened.

The House watched as the old man froze. Not in fear, not yet, but frozen in anticipation and curiosity the old man sat watching his doorway. After a few moments of staring into apparent nothingness while unknowingly allowing the House to stare back at him, he sighed and rose from his bed.

Hosea hadn’t noticed a draft before tonight, but it was the only explanation for his door to have decided to open itself in the middle of the night. It must have been the draft that had caused the extra creaking, that he had mistaken for footsteps. Yes, Hosea contended himself with his logic and once again lay back down to rest. 

Just as sleep was about to take hold of him, his door opened again. 

The House was not satisfied. It yearned to taste the age of the man but fear, fear was what it really hungered for. The old man had indeed gained wisdom over his years and that wisdom made the House’s attempts to illicit fear fail, at least on that first night. The House was not in the habit of abandoning the promise of a good meal. The house was patient, and it would wait, and eventually it knew its efforts would drive delicious fear into the heart of the old man.


	10. Hosea is Tired

It was at the end of a reading lesson that Jack had asked Hosea the most peculiar of questions. Had he heard the house? When Hosea had tried asking the boy what he meant, he only repeated his question, and when Hosea tried pressing him for an explanation he had shrugged and wandered off to play. 

A good twenty minutes later and Hosea was still sat there, contemplating the oddness of Jack’s question. Was it really so odd, he wondered, after all he himself had experienced broken sleep for over a week now due to the unusual noises from the house. The creaks, which still sounded ever so like footsteps to his ears, could have bothered young Jack too. The boy wasn’t used to sleeping indoors, Hose reasoned. The boy wasn’t used to the noises an old house could make in the stillness of the night, and Hosea was simply an old fool too used to the threat of ambush to hear anything other than footsteps. That was the conclusion which Hosea had reached. He choose to ignore the ongoing mystery of his opening door, for that did leave him slightly unnerved. 

The House stood in the afternoon sun watching the old man as the first creepings of fear took hold of his soul. The house could sense it, smell it, and taste the fear as it grew. 

At night, the House visited Hosea once   
again.

Hosea was tired.

Too tired. 

The rest of the gang had been noticing and worrying. Susan, Dutch, and even Arthur, had on more than one occasion taken him aside to ask whether he were okay, and then order him to go lie down and rest. Rest stubbornly refused to reach Hosea. There were too many things needing done, needing planned, for him to go and sleep the day away and yet he knew that the night would bring him no real rest. 

Footsteps. No matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, all he could hear were footsteps. It was no mere creaking, but the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

Lying in his bed he could almost track the non-existent person as he heard the footsteps clump down the stairs, then creaking the floorboards as they shuffled down the hall to stand outside his door. 

Then slowly, ever so slowly, the door to his room would creak open. Each time he found himself being more and more fearful of what would stand on the other side of the threshold and yet each time there was only darkness. After staring into the hallway for five, ten, fifteen minutes, he would give in to the urge to rise from his bed and close his door once more. 

Almost as soon as he would begin to dose off, the footsteps would start again. It was as though the pattern would reset itself, and once again he would hear the footsteps as they started above him, moving towards then down the staircase. Hosea could feel the thump of his heart through his chest as overwhelming fear would grip him, worse each time, as this unexplainable occurrence would incessantly repeat itself. 

Hosea was tired. 

Hosea was afraid.

The House however, was pleased, and knew it would not have to wait much longer to devour the old man. Fear and insomnia would satisfy it's ever demanding hunger.


	11. Jack Dreams

Jack was dreaming. The House had all but forgotten about him, small as he was, and instead the House was craving the taste of insomnia and age from Hosea. Jack was dreaming, but not a pleasant dream, and not altogether detached from reality as dreams were expected to be.

He dreamed of Hosea, in his room downstairs. Kind old Hosea, in this dream, was terrifying to poor young Jack. Jack didn’t know where he stood in the dream, instead he seemed to be watching Hosea from all angles as the old man lay on his bed. Shadowy unpleasant shapes swarmed around him and no matter how hard Jack tried to do something, or anything, to warn him, he was powerless.

Powerless to even wake up, as his small sleep whimpers faded into the night before reaching the ears of his mother. Jack dreamt on.

Suddenly the darkness left Hosea’s bedside and Jack held his breath in anticipation. After what felt like an eternity to the small boy, Hosea began to sit up, and Jack let out a relieved breath. That breath soon caught in his throat as he saw Hosea’s face, discoloured and inhuman, and as Jack screamed he woke.

Jack was inconsolable, and unable to explain through his gasping tears what he had dreamt to scare him so. His mother shushed him and wrapped her arms tightly around his small trembling body. Even John sat by his side, stroking his hair gently, alarmed at the unexpected outburst of fear from his boy.

The next day when Hosea called to Jack for his reading lesson, he was caught off guard by the look of fear Jack flashed him, before running away. Hosea stood in shock and confusion, but did not go after the child. In truth, he was too tired to be giving reading lessons today anyway. Hosea was tired of being tired, and craved rest.

The House watched him, greedily awaiting the night.


	12. Hosea Sleeps

Hosea was tired. Tired of being tired, tired of being confused, and most of all tired of being scared.

Tonight, he was going to solve his mystery. Tonight, he would discover the cause of the incessant creaking and solve the mystery of his opening door. Then finally he would be able to have a proper nights sleep and rest his old bones. 

He had gone through all sorts of scenarios in his head, and had allowed himself to become frightened of the unknown. Hosea had lived through too much to allow himself to become frightened of the night.

His plan was simple. In the quiet of the night hours he would leave his room and make his way to the upstairs landing, and wait. That was where the source of the creaking always seemed to start, and he hoped to catch the culprit in the act, and when they opened his bedroom door to discover him gone he would step out of the shadows and confront them. His plan was simple, and that evening as he bid his family goodnight he felt content, knowing that sleep and rest were soon to find him. 

The House, meanwhile, was also content. Content in the knowledge that it could soon feast. It had been too long since devouring Micah, Molly and Strauss, and the House was starving.

The House watched the old man as he waited in the shadows of the upstairs landing. It admired his dedication, and uncanny human ability to attempt to ward off fear with logic. The wisdom gained from his years of life would taste oh so sweet, and the House was eager to feast.

Hosea shivered as he crouched in the corner, despite the warm muggy air of the swamps, and his joints felt stiffer than ever. He wasn’t afraid though. The pounding of his heart which had accompanied his fear for so many nights now was entirely absent, and he was calm. 

Then he heard something. 

Not the creaking, nor a person like he expected, but an odd sound which his mind could not fathom. He remembered little Jack’s strange question, had he heard the house?

Hosea stood, head tilted as he put all his concentration into listening. The sound seemed to move, and so he followed it. Walking along the landing, and continuing down the stairs he followed it in calm curiosity. 

Almost in a daze he followed it along then round the hallway, and found himself standing at his bedroom door. 

Once again he was surprised to find that the fear and pounding of his heart did not come and just as he begun to question just what was happening, he heard the noise again. It was in his room, the peculiar sounds. He did not doubt that he could hear the strange something that Jack must have been referring to. An old wooden door with peeling paint and no lock was all that separated him from it, and with the stillness and calmness encouraging him, Hosea opened the door.

The House watched the soul of the man in his final moments, and feasted on the sweetness of the man’s realisation.

Hosea did not know what to do. On opening his door he saw himself, lying on his bed, still and deathly pale. Hosea looked down at his hands to find them translucent, and fading, and looked again at the corpse on the bed. At his own corpse.

Then, quietly and unnoticed by his family, Hosea faded away to nothing.

The House was once again contented and well fed, but with morning it would begin to watch the Van Der Linde gang once again, as it found its next meal.


	13. Dutch has a Plan

Dutch was lost. 

The morning that young Jack had gone into the room to awaken Hosea, only to emerge screaming, had left the entire gang feeling shattered. 

Dutch and Arthur had sat together in Hosea’s room for hours, silently sharing their grief. John sat with them for a while, before leaving to help Abigail calm down a distressed Jack.

As the two grief stricken men sat with Hosea’s body, the House watched them intently. Their grief and despair smelled sweet, and tempting, and the House relished their crumbling state of minds. 

A week passed by and the gang had not yet regained normality. While Dutch was their leader, Hosea had been the heart of their gang family and his loss was devastating to each of them. Dutch knew he needed to regain control, regain some hope and purpose and be the leader they needed him to be. Dutch knew that he needed a plan.

It came to him, one afternoon, and it’s simplicity struck him like lighting. They had to leave. So much bad luck had befallen them in the past few months and really, what was keeping them there? They had moved often enough before and perhaps a fresh start was exactly what they all needed to move on, to keep living. 

First Strauss had abandoned them during the night without a word, a cowardly action that Dutch could not forgive. Then his sweet love Molly had succumbed to some sort of madness which stole her away from him. He regretted not seeing her declining state of mind, and not trying harder to help when it had become obvious. Then Lenny, who had been so full of promise, had ungraciously been killed while out on a job. That had shaken the gang and then so soon after, they had lost Micah. Dutch knew some of the others had never looked favourably on Micah, but he himself had liked the man and had high hopes for what they could have accomplished together. He dared not dwell on how Micah had died. None of them knew whether his stepping into the fire had been a terrible accident, or whether he too had succumbed to a madness. Now his dearest Hosea was dead.

Dutch had his plan. Soon, they would leave this place and it’s bad memories far behind.

The House watched, and it’s gaze settled on Dutch Van Der Linde.


	14. Poisoned Stew

The House had watched him with disinterest at first. He was repetitive and had no traits which tempted the House, but time had passed and the House had a new intention. It would not allow Dutch Van Der Linde, or any of the others, to escape its hunger but it was not yet content to devour them. It had to break Dutch, first, make him deliciously shattered before consuming his soul. 

The disinteresting man had a part to play, and the House began to reach out into his mind. Pearson barely noticed as a fog overtook his mind, and he found himself adding peculiar additions to the stew pot. 

When the next week saw many of the gang fall ill, Dutch knew he had no option but to delay his plan of them leaving. One more week, he told himself, until those who had fallen ill had their strength back and were well enough to travel.

The House, content that its inhabitants would not yet elude its hunger, creeped back into Pearson’s mind. His mind once more fogged over, Pearson hummed to himself as he added even more peculiar additions to a stew bowl. Just one stew bowl.

The House’s temptation was strong and it eagerly awaited the sweet taste of Dutch’s shattered soul. The broken leader was consumed by grief and guilt but still, hope remained. With Pearson’s deed that hope would be extinguished and the House would finally be able to feast.

The bowl of deadly stew was carried across the camp by Pearson’s unwitting hand, and handed over to the House’s unfortunate prey with a cheerful “Here you go, Mister…”

The House watched as the one they called Pearson handed over the bowl to the man. The man was, like Lenny, simply a tool to the House’s plan. His death served a higher purpose in further shattering what was left of Dutch Van Der Linde’s soul. 

The House craved the taste of despair, and hopelessness, and the unique madness the two often produced. When the time came, the House knew the feast would be oh so sweet, and leave it satisfied for years.

First though, the man had to die. 

Creeping into the mind of Pearson and causing him to add the deadly extra ingredient to the bowl had been simple, now the House stood silently as it watched. 

A few spoonful’s into his meal Arthur froze. Something was not right. His throat burned, and his insides began to twist. Shakily he dropped the bowl, the remaining stew spilling harmlessly into the ground. Barely noticed by a gang deep in grieving, Arthur staggered to his horse and clumsily clambered into the saddle.   
He knew the signs of poison, and he knew he hadn’t long to reach a doctor if he wanted to live.

His horse seemed to sense his distress and urgency and rode hard. Arthur slumped in the saddle, groaning as his insides seem to turn to molten metal, heavy and painful as he felt his skin grow slick with sweat. His vision blurred and he could only moan as the intense pain gripped him tightly.

With all strength leaving him, Arthur fell from the horse, which whinnied dejectedly as it sensed the sickness in it’s human. In his confused state he had taken them far from the road, and from any hope of help from a passing stranger, and through his confusion he recognised the fast approach of death.

Tears slipped from his eyes, not just from the pain but the unjustness of it, the suddenness of it. He had always thought his end would come from the barrel of a gun, but then so had Hosea, and now they both were to be gone. He curled in on himself as the pain reached a new intensity, and with one last shuddering breath, he was gone.

Far off, the House contented itself with watching as over the next few days the Van Der Linde gang recognised and worried over the man’s absence.


	15. Pearson

The House watched as the Van Der Linde gang unhappily reached the conclusion that Arthur, like Strauss, had abandoned them. Betrayal, anger and sorrow overwhelmed them and the House hungered to devour them.

The House watched Dutch Van Der Linde as he processed the inescapable fact that Hosea, and now Arthur, had left him. The House savoured the sweet moment that Dutch’s heart and soul shattered beyond repair. Soon, it would be time to feast. 

Pearson glumly cut through carrots for the stew pot, the sound of his chopping the only thing to break the silence of camp. It was as though they were all in a dream, no a nightmare, he thought. So much misery had visited them over the past weeks and now Arthur, of all people, to have abandoned them was almost too much to bear. 

The wind whistled past him, unusually chill for the swamps, and the sun cast the shadow of the House over him. Whisperings crept through his mind and he found himself wondering, did Arthur really abandon them? A memory stirred from a dark corner of his mind and he found himself trembling suddenly, as he suddenly realised what had happened. Suddenly realised what he had done. 

He couldn’t fathom why, yet suddenly he could remember will all clarity putting the poison into the bowl, then handing the bowl to Arthur. What ever had happened to Arthur, Pearson now knew it had been his doing, and that Arthur Morgan was most certainly dead.

The shadow seemed to darken around him, and he found himself examining his cooking knife. Seeing his reflection on the metal, he was suddenly filled with overwhelming hatred, and he knew what he had to do.

The House devoured Pearson’s soul and stood watch over the body as it lay in a pool of blood. Later, when Ms Grimshaw informed Dutch, he barely reacted. He had felt too much of late and numbness had engulfed him.

The House stood silently, watching and growing ever more hungry with each passing day. The house was malevolent, and hungry for insanity and depression and all dark emotions.

The gratification of picking through the Van Der Linde gang was wearing thin and the House had become greedy. Watching Dutch, the House knew its hunger would soon be satiated.


	16. Dutch. Has. A. Plan.

Dutch was lost, his heart and soul shattered into a thousand pieces and carried away by some dark wind. 

Things had not been going well, he knew that, with the gang members to have abandoned them or died. He had faith though, and he didn’t falter until the morning that they had discovered his dear Hosea passed away. 

Faith faltering he nevertheless battled on, putting all his hope into his plan of moving them all some place new. Then that damned sickness had forced him to delay and he grumpily accepted that he had to wait. Now, the unthinkable had happened. Arthur, the man he called his son, had abandoned him. Arthur had abandoned them all. The coward had fled without a word, leaving a family in mourning and leaving Dutch behind.

Dutch began to doubt all those years, pondering whether Arthur had ever really looked on him as a father or mentor, or whether he had only ever stayed so long because of Hosea. With Hosea gone well, what was to stop a grieving Arthur from running. 

Bitterness swelled deep inside Dutch and darkness began to overwhelm him. Soon no one dared even say Arthurs name, and the grieving confused gang could only watch their leader with apprehension, hoping with all their faith that he would lead them back into the light.

The House stood silently watching them all, focussing all its darkness to swarm around Dutch Van Der Linde.

It was during the darkest hours of the night that Dutch found himself walking towards his weapons chest, and drawing out his hunting knife. Dutch had a new plan, but it was far from good.


	17. Dutch's Plan

The House watched him with a fierce intensity, allowing it’s darkness to engulf his broken soul. 

Dutch stood dazedly, running his thumb along the edge of his knife with enough force to draw just a little blood. He stared at the red as it dripped on to the floor, oblivious to the House as it creaked and groaned around him. With a deep breath he stood up tall. He knew what had to be done, his plan was necessary. He had failed his family, he hadn’t been able to protect them of late and now, now he would ensure that no harm would ever come to them again.

The House hungered as it watched him, knowing it’s appetite was soon to be satiated. 

Dutch stood over John, his son, and felt great pride. John had stepped up, he was becoming a good husband to Abigail and father to Jack. Still, Dutch knew that his plan was the only way to ensure they would stay safe, forever. He finished John and Jack quickly, barely waking them, but Abigail had woken, drowsily looking at him in confusion, eyes widening as she saw the blood coating his hands. Before she could make a sound, Dutch had one hand over her mouth and with the other he plunged his knife deep into her chest, and she fell silently to the bed.

The House watched Dutch as he moved downstairs towards the rest of the sleeping gang. 

Most, he finished quickly and calmly but some, like Mary Beth and Tilly, briefly woke and for just a moment Dutch felt uncertain as he saw the fear in their eyes. The House, almost drunk on the souls it was consuming, swarmed Dutch with darkness and the man resumed his plan.

Outside he paused as he looked at where Strauss and Pearson used to sleep, betrayal and failure weighing heavy on his heart. He swiftly finished Trelawny and moved towards dear Susan. She had stayed by him all these years and he was glad to now ensure that nothing would ever be able to harm her. 

With blood saturating his clothing, he moved from one sleeping man to another, until all was still and his plan was complete. The House creaked behind him, and Dutch turned. 

He saw his family, every one of them, standing together on the porch. They all smiled at him, and Hosea lifted a hand to urge Dutch to follow them inside.


	18. A House

Dutch watched them as they went inside, seeing only his safe family, and none of the House's evil.

He smiled, and let out a contented sigh, plunging the knife deep into his own chest. He didn’t fall though, instead he stepped over his own body and followed his family into the House as it digested each unfortunate soul.

A house, is a house. A collection of bricks and wooden planks, cement and nails, plaster and mortar. A house is inanimate. It stands where you tell it, looks how you make it, and is a ‘house’ because it has been named as such. A house can not see, can not think, and is oblivious to those who inhabit it. A house can neither be kind nor dangerous, pleased nor angered. A house, is a house.

Yet this house, as it stood amongst the swamps, was not just a house. 

This house was malevolent, and hungry for insanity and depression. This house had been fed well, and the souls of the unfortunate Van Der Linde gang would satiate it’s hunger for many years. Until the next people were to call this House their home.

The end!


End file.
